Human on the Half Shell
by newscaper
Summary: John gets his wish: finding chocolate in the UTs to share with Aeryn. He may get more than he bargained for when he introduces her to edible body paint. Actually ... a whole LOT more! Winner, Best Comedy for 2002 Farscape Fanfiction Awards


"Human on the Half Shell"  
  
AUTHOR: 'newscaper' from the SciFi Channel BB 1/14/02  
  
This was my long overdue story for Aeryncrichton's Chocolate Body Paint Fic Challenge.  
  
RATING: PG-13 flirting with R  
  
DISCLAIMER: You know the drill. Farscape and characters owned by Henson Co. et al.  
  
  
Crichton returned to his and Aeryn's quarters, the fatigue he should have felt from the long trading expedition erased by the excitement of his final purchase.  
  
He kicked off his boots and ditched his other gear then lay down on the bunk to try and relax a bit while waiting for the other transport pod. In spite of himself he mentally replayed his discovery of a couple arns ago...  
  
He and Chiana were making one last pass through the bazaar before taking the first loaded transport back up to Moya.   
  
He was spending more time watching to see if Chiana snurched anything than in shopping for himself when a delicious smell wafting on the breeze provided a welcome distraction.  
  
"Hey, Pip, do you smell that?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"THAT! Somebody is cooking with *chocolate*! I've gotta find it."  
  
Chiana shook her head indulgently and stayed in the jeweler's booth, no doubt thinking he was just up to some more of his usual Erp nonsense. Lord knows she'd heard him rhapsodize about chocolate before. He turned and ran through the nearby stalls trying to find the source of the mesmerizing, half-forgotten odor. He was salivating as he stumbled across the right vendor.  
  
The alien's booth was filled with all sorts of open containers simmering over open flames. Crichton realized on closer inspection many of them stunk with an industrial smell, but nothing distracted him from the blessed chocolate until he found the right stack of yellow painted metal cans with a can of what looked just like chocolate syrup bubbling as the display. It was bound to happen sooner or later in a whole universe brewing organics.  
  
"Can I try this?" he asked the vendor, giddy with anticipation. The alien looked at him blankly, making the not-so-common hand sign indicating he was a member of one of those rare species for whom translator microbes didn't work. He eagerly improvised by pointing at the display then to his open mouth, running his hand down to his stomach and rubbing it, all the while waggling his eyebrows Groucho style.  
  
Yes! The alien gestured assent. From an adjacent jar John took a small stick apparently intended for dipping and dunked it in the concoction. He blew on it to cool it down, closed his eyes, and tasted. Pure ambrosia. This was it! For once the Wheel had turned in his favor.  
  
John looked around the stall for a more attractive container to serve it from and settled on a smaller, pretty crystal jar. He was so eager to get back upstairs ahead of Aeryn that he thrust a pile of currency at the vendor without haggling. He then caught Chiana and practically dragged her back to the transport.  
  
On the flight back up he tried to explain his find to the Nebari, but he wasn't going to let her sample any until after Aeryn did. He racked his brains for some way to use it in a compatible dish then inspiration struck. Who said it had to be used on food? In the monens since he and Aeryn had finally worked things out he'd been delighted to discover how deep her seldom seen playful streak went. Even now she normally repressed it in public, but behind closed doors, watch out!   
  
In his enthusiasm for his new plan he almost spilled the beans to Chiana about the human concept of edible body paint. Fortunately he bit his tongue just in time and changed the subject. No matter how much fun they had with it there would be hell to pay if Aeryn thought he'd told Chiana about their little games. Hell, she'd almost skinned him alive a couple weekens ago when Chiana made that crack about him "interrogating" Aeryn in front of her. She felt betrayed thinking he must have bragged to the girl about playing "PeaceKeeper and Prisoner" and Aeryn's preference for a role-reversal. He had to talk until he was blue in the face, but he proved his innocence to her satisfaction. He also deflected Aeryn's wrath from Chiana, convincing her that the remark was innocent, but that didn't stop him from going to the Nebari himself and warning her against spying. He told her next time he'd turn Aeryn loose and in general read her the Riot Act. But with Chiana getting back on the straight and narrow never lasted more than about 24 arns...  
  
Lying on the bunk, he was finally able to forget his anticipation and relax.  
  
John bolted to his feet as Aeryn strode into the room unannounced. For an instant Crichton wondered why Pilot had failed to notify him of her return as asked, but then he dismissed that line of thought. There were much more important things at hand.  
  
They embraced in greeting and exchanged a few warm kisses until John broke away and squatted to rummage through his coat on the floor. He stood up, holding a small decanter and said, "Taste this, baby. It's not Hagen Das, not Godiva, not Toblerone not even a plain old Hershey bar but it'll do. It's the closest damned thing I've found to chocolate syrup out here, but I'm afraid sundaes and shakes are out -- no ice cream."  
  
He removed the lid and held it up for her, "Try it." He dipped his finger and held it out for her to taste.  
  
She licked it off oh so slowly with a "Mmmmmm...", then rubbed up against him. He slyly asked, "You up for some fingerpainting?"   
  
She continued rubbing and took her time answering. "I don't know. Why don't you go make me a chocolate ice cream cone instead? I'm sure you can think of a substitute," she suggested.  
  
Playing catch-up with the rest of his body, Crichton snapped to attention. "Yes Ma'am!" Mama Crichton's boy didn't have to be told twice -- he could take a hint!  
  
He went in to the tiny bathroom to wash off. He dried carefully and slathered on a good thick coat of the chocolate stuff. As he screwed the lid back on the container he felt a strange sensation. It had changed from looking all wet to a hard matte finish.  
  
Intrigued he leaned over and rapped it lightly on the edge of the metal basin with one hand.  
  
Tink, tink, tink.  
  
He started laughing loudly.  
  
"Oh babe..." he gasped "Never in a million years ... you guys out here in the Uncharteds invented Magic Shell too? Get in here." He kept laughing as she squeezed into the confined space with him.  
  
At her puzzled look he started to explain the physics of the Dairy Queen dipped cone and how this Magic Shell stuff solved a problem of the phase change from liquid to solid at room temperature and...  
  
"Shut up, John. I've got better things to do than talk".  
  
"Yes ma'am again!"  
  
His heavy breathing became the only sound in the small room.  
  
Then ... "Uh, Aeryn, is any of it coming off?"  
  
"I don't think so. The flavor is fading."  
  
"Oh shit", John said and he turned back to the sink.  
  
"Let me see." Aeryn spun him back around. Before he could object she grabbed with both hands and gave a yank with a twist.  
  
"OWWWWW! Stop that. The hide's gonna come off it first," he warned her.  
  
"Well maybe it will just fall off as the swelling goes down."  
  
"You mean like a snake shedding its skin? I'd rather keep mine thank you. Er, plus I'm not sure that's going to happen. I ... uh ... I think that it shrunk a little as it hardened, constricting the blood flow."  
  
He turned around to the sink again, wet a towel, and tried to wipe it off. No dice. As he tried to subdue his rising panic, she shoved his hands aside and tried the nail brush.  
  
Whisk, whisk, whisk, whisk.  
  
"No luck" she remarked and surprised him by turning on a blast of steaming hot water directed right on it.  
  
"GAWD!" he bawled and jumped back like a scalded cat, banging into the back wall in the cramped closet and almost falling over. "What in hell did you do that for? Are you trying to blanch it?"  
  
"Sorry" she answered contritely and helped him back up. "I thought that heat might expand the coating, loosening it so I could remove it."  
  
He countered angrily, "Or sudden expansion might just rip off all the skin at once. It's already stretched pretty thin you know. Magic my ass, that stuff has adhered."   
  
Having vented he calmed down some. She was just trying to help after all -- there was no one he'd rather have at his back in battle. Now how to make sure she got it through her skull? 'That's it!' he thought to himself and grinned.  
  
He spoke in her language, "Look, you're treating this like just another tactical problem, right."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"I know you're probably not used to it but the Rules of Engagement for this little exercise place top priority on minimizing collateral damage. Got it?"  
  
"Affirmative," she nodded, grinning back in understanding.  
  
"Well no more talk of hot and cold, no more expanding or contracting, at least for now." The thought of raw tissue and shredded nerve endings left him queasy.  
  
"Well that leaves only chemical or mechanical means and somehow I don't think you're ready for acids yet", she reasoned. "Come back out into the room."  
  
He heard the zing of metal sliding on metal as he shambled out the door following her.  
  
She turned and he stopped in his tracks.  
  
"Aeryn, just what are you doing with your Rambo signature-series PK commando knife?"  
  
"I just want to see if the shell can be cut. I won't cut too deep, I promise."  
  
"Honey, I must love you. Just remember the name's John Crichton, not John Bobbit." He looked past her at the far wall, afraid to look at the razor sharp steel as she walked over and kneeled.  
  
"Hold still, John." A pause. "Nothing. The blade just skitters off when I try to cut. I'm going to see if I can shave any material off."  
  
He winced at that image and covered his face with his hands. "Well don't whittle yourself an Arkansas toothpick. The dentics do just great..."  
  
He was interrupted by a faint sound sort of like fingernails on a blackboard. She stopped just as he peeked to see what in hell was going on.  
  
"That's a waste of time, too, I'm afraid," she said.  
  
Aeryn turned the knife over to the serrated back edge.  
"Look at the wall again" she directed. He felt jerks and tugs accompanied by a sawing sound like one of those lumberjack contests.  
  
John raised his voice over the grating sounds, "All this friction is making me hot."  
  
Aeryn absently grunted approval as she continued to work on the problem.  
  
John clarified, "Aeryn, uh, bad hot... you're not trying to start a fire indian-style are you?"  
  
"Oh, sorry, I didn't realize," as she sheathed the knife and stood up.  
  
Aeryn went over to her pile of gear, and John heard the sound of creaking leather. She turned around with her gunbelt in her hands and drew the pulse pistol from the holster, reversing it in her grip as she approached  
  
He licked his lips.  
"Babe, I don't see any bad guys in need of a pistol-whipping in here."  
  
"I just want to see if I can crack it with a dead blow."  
  
"Darlin', I'd never say 'dead' was your style. OK, just don't miss. The Vienna Boys Choir is a long, LONG way from here."  
  
She gave him a reassuring smooch and said, "I promise. Lay it on the edge of the counter here."  
  
He did as requested without further complaint but had to add nervously, "I think I'll look the other way again" and studied some of the exposed conduits and channels in the ceiling.  
  
She started gingerly with a few light taps then progressed to outright hammering, the clangs growing in loudness and frequency. John Henry would be proud. Crichton prayed the shell didn't suddenly disintegrate into shrapnel without warning. He was just about to interrupt when the impacts stopped.  
  
"Frell this", she said in irritation.  
  
John looked back down at her. She had turned the pistol around again and looked like she might want to shoot something.  
  
He flinched at the clicking sounds as she adjusted the pulse intensity.  
  
"C'mon, Aeryn, you can put the pistol away now."  
  
"Don't be silly. It's on the lowest setting."  
  
John really got uptight, sweat pouring, voice rising in pitch as she aimed down *there*, "No way, honey, now THAT is where I draw the line! You..."  
  
C-R-A-C-K! a flash of yellow light.  
  
John's heart started beating again as he realized there was no mind-destroying pain, no stench of charred flesh, no cauterized stump.  
  
"Next time you have GOT to warn me. I just near had a heart attack."  
  
Aeryn, engrossed by the results of her little test replied "I just noticed this hardened flake where some dripped off your finger earlier. See it's still in one piece, hardly marked at all while the countertop is substantially scorched, even melted around it. Hmmm ... we might be able to improvise light body armor and shielding from this. I don't think the PKs know anything about this material. I'll have to get D'Argo in here to see if the Luxans are aware of it. We'll have to experiment with full power pulse fire then..." She was acting like she'd forgotten about his predicament.  
  
"Earth to Aeryn." No reaction. She was still muttering to herself in thought. Louder, "Uh, MOYA to Aeryn!"  
  
She glanced up at him, still distracted by her discovery.  
  
"Fascinating I'm sure, Miss Commando, but your big breakthrough in battletech will just have to wait. THIS armor plating has got to come off NOW!"   
That old familiar ache had ceased being pleasant several minutes ago, and he didn't know what he'd do when two bottles of fellip nectar finished working their way through his system. He shivered with trepidation at the thought.  
  
Thankfully, she got back with the program. Aeryn re-holstered her pistol and set it down. "You're right of course. Now let me see the container."   
  
He pointed to the crystal jar visible on the sink in the bathroom.   
She clarified, "No not that one I hope. Did it originally come in something with a label of some sort?"  
  
Crichton shuffled over to his bag, pants still around his ankles and retrieved the UT's version of a one-pint paint can, handing it to Aeryn to inspect.  
  
Aeryn reddened slightly as she read the label. She looked back up at him.  
"Oh, you brainless drannit."  
  
John paled. "Aeryn? See that symbol right there? It's supposed to be perfectly safe."  
  
"You poor fool, that means 'Non-toxic if accidentally ingested'."  
  
His mind raced as he lamented, "Oh shit. I didn't ask for the MSDS and the app notes. Hell, I thought it was FOOD for Christ's sake!"   
  
Couldn't things be easy just once?  
  
She continued reading the label for him "'Epoxy patch coating, low cure temperature, sets in seconds. Self-hardening. Pleasant odor.' See this?" she pointed to the tiny alien script along the bottom edge of the can.   
"'Safe for use on food preparation surfaces and food handling equipment.' It is NOT a condiment."  
  
So his perfect human blue eyes were inferior after all.   
"I'm feeling faint."  
  
"Here, lay on the bed." She disentangled his trouser legs and then ran some water to wet a small cloth that she gave him. "Put this over your eyes. Maybe we can find some sort of solvent that will be safe for your skin. Let me think a microt."  
  
Just then Jool bustled in breathlessly carrying her med-kit.  
"What's the problem Aeryn? Chiana said you two urgently needed me."   
  
John didn't snatch the sheet up quite fast enough for his taste.   
"Chiana?!? Dammittohell, Aeryn, if she's been spying again I swear I'll..."  
  
"Not now, John. I'll take care of the trelk later. Right now I think Jool might be useful. I'm running out of ideas."  
  
Aeryn pointed at the sheet and commanded, "Let her examine you."  
  
"No way. Maybe she can figure something out just by reading the ingredients on the can."  
  
"Show her John. Not just the can. Show her *it*," she insisted. "Jool's the closest thing we have to a chemist ... or a doctor for that matter."   
  
She mercilessly snatched away the satiny golden sheet and threw it in the corner. He squealed like a girl and sat up, clutching at the shards of his dignity. Aeryn just glared at him, brooking no further argument.  
  
After a microt, knowing he was in serious need of help, desperately missing Zhaan, and recognizing defeat when he saw it, Crichton pulled away his shielding hands and used them to place the small wet cloth back over his face as he lay back again. Maybe it wouldn't be so humiliating if he didn't have to watch.  
  
Jool gasped then sniffed delicately "I've never encountered an ... injury ... like this before. I..."  
  
"JUST FIX IT!" John yelled and the Interon jumped. Aeryn calmly began describing all the things she had tried in vain.  
  
Still trying to avoid the inevitable, Jool offered, "We may just have to take him back down to the planet. We should be able to get back soon; I think Pilot just broke orbit after you got back."  
  
John wilted further at this prospect -- except for the part that needed to most. At this rate he'd soon have nothing left private in this half of the galaxy, neither his parts nor his thoughts.  
  
Aeryn was getting impatient again. "Look closer, Jool." The Interon hesitated primly, and Aeryn grabbed her by the shoulder forcing her down so firmly her nose bumped him, making them both start.   
  
"Here. Down near the base. Does that look like a hairline crack to you? I didn't think we made a dent in it. Perhaps we can exploit it..."  
  
Just at the point John was deciding two sets of long hair tickling his thighs really were unbearable, D'Argo burst into the room, Qualta blade drawn for battle.  
  
"What happened?" he demanded his voice trailing off as he took in the scene before him, everyone frozen for a split-microt in surprise before the two women shot upright as if jolted by an electric shock.   
  
The stunned Luxan continued, "Pilot said he detected a ... uh ... a weapons discharge." He did another double-take at the scene, John too paralyzed with embarrassment to cover himself effectively.   
  
"I guess he just forgot to say what kind," D'Argo roared and then guffawed so hard he was crying. He gestured, "I thought we might be facing a bigger threat!"  
  
After a couple of squeaks and a nervous titter, Jool let loose herself and joined him with her eardrum-piercing, shrieking laughter. John thought it was almost as bad as her metal melting scream of terror.  
  
Aeryn interrupted loudly "IT IS NOT", a snort, a gasp, "FUNNY!" and she lost her self-restraint too, adding to the howls filling the former cell.  
Dying of embarrassment the now nauseous human weakly tried to cover himself with the small cloth that had been over his eyes but could not find it.  
  
Just as his fingers found where it had fallen on the floor beside the bunk he heard a sudden patter of running feet that ended with Chiana sliding to a halt in the open doorway.  
  
"What's up, guys?"   
  
This provoked a fresh round of even more raucous laughter at John's expense. No one heard him as he mumbled "I think I'm gonna be sick."  
  
John's comm badge over in the heap of clothing on the floor chirped and Pilot spoke "Commander." A pause.  
  
"COMMANDER CRICHTON!"  
  
John was jolted awake, thoroughly disoriented and aching. He immediately did a package check to convince himself it was indeed just a bad dream. He was fine, nothing loosening his clothes and a major leak wouldn't fix. Damn but that was a bad one. He waited for the room to stop spinning before irritably responding to Pilot's repeated calls.   
  
"Alright, alright, enough already! What do you want, Pilot?" he snapped as he swung his feet to the floor, got up with a groan, and shuffled to the head. He moved more rapidly after gravity suddenly took hold of his bladder.  
  
"*You* are the one who requested that I inform you as soon as Aeryn and Rygel reached orbit. I merely did as you asked. Apparently you fell asleep." Pilot sounded pretty peeved and cut the connection before John could apologize.  
  
"I'm on my way", he replied to dead air, distracted as he unzipped in a frenzy. Still a bit spooked, he did a quick visual to reassure himself then took care of urgent business.  
  
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..." as hydraulic pressure triumphed over clenched muscles that finally relaxed. He sagged against the wall above the fixture, quivering as the flood of relief washed away even the discomfort of the awkward half-squatting posture required by his former condition, now rapidly dwindling. Collecting himself, he gratefully stood up straight and finished with a few cautious shakes.  
  
Back in the room, John rubbed his eyes and put his boots back on. Rising again, he went over and picked up the "chocolate" and peered at the line of just barely visible alien text and symbols. Still just so much microscopic gibberish. Maybe he should get Jool to translate? He set it down so he could put on his gunbelt, and retrieved the comm badge, still considering.  
  
He opened the smaller jar and took another taste, coming to his decision with a heavy sigh.   
  
"It doesn't really taste *that* much like chocolate", he consoled himself out loud.  
  
He tossed both containers in the waste disposal, along with his plans for an evening of messy fun, and left to meet Aeryn. 


End file.
